Sky Sick

A poem that was made for you and also made for me <3

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To drive in the dark
Is unpleasant.
To drive through light that becomes
Dark is worse than that.

Time warps and
Lengthens beyond rationality.
Minutes like honey,
Once sweetness no longer matters,
You just want it off your hands.

However, like all unpleasant &
Worse things, there’s something
Good to be said. When you drive
Through light that becomes dark,
You will watch the sun set.
The whole sunset, whether
You want to, or you don’t.

It plays on the screen of the sky,
And you crane your neck
In an almost unsafe way.
The rumble strips cradle you to say,
“It’s okay—look.”

And you slow down without realizing it,
And the person behind you is on your tail,
They flash their insignificant headlights.
And raising a hand in apology
(Though you don’t feel you should apologize)
You skirt over to the slow lane.

It occurs to you that you should have
Stayed in their way.
Forced them to look. Look!
What could be so important, where are you
Going down this cut of road, where are you
Going to?

The sun is setting. It’s rude not to look.
This is the sun, and these are
The clouds. This is not made for you, but
You are made for it.
To watch it.

Don’t look away. Not even
For a minute it looks this way, in a moment,
It no longer does.
For a whole hour, it will be better,
More outrageous, every time the tree line
Parts its curtain for you on this primordial backdrop.

Can you picture what it would look like
If this road weren’t here?
No towers, no lights, no cars, no billboards, no…
It makes me nauseous.
But I recall—if none of this were here,
Neither would I be
Here.

Not barreling down the coast in my metal box
On wheels, not able to witness, forced
To witness, the daytime sky begin her flirtations.
Blush and wink, bruise and age,
Into the final flush, the dusk, the setting.

It changes but so too do I,
I am not in one place, I am in motion,
I am not the same for a moment.
It moves every second, and so too do I.
Nothing would be the same if any thing were different.

~

Two days later, standing on the porch,
The thunderstorm has passed, and
The air is cool, the railing, wet beneath
My arms that lean against it.

The sun is setting again,
The clouds are out.
I am not moving every second—I am still.
I must be still so as not to be sick.

The slash of orange is framed by green clouds above—
Yes, green! And fuzzy like sage.
And underneath, a purple, so soft. Can I say
Like cotton candy? I know I shouldn’t.
Okay, like ripped marshmallows,
Wrapped in silk.

I am not sure what is welling up
Inside of me. I want to keep it in.
It does feel momentarily like I might throw up
Something—something needs to get out.
Words I suppose.
They do always try their best.

To be confronted with such a sight,
Makes it impossible to feel that anything
Could ever be wrong in this place
Where I’ve ended up
By some miracle
Where the sky does this
Every single night. And tonight
I am standing here, and I am watching it,
Knowing that it is not made for me,
I am made for it.
But knowing too, that maybe,
Within my being made for it,
It is made for me too.

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